


I Left Myself in the Alleyway

by Death_Herself



Series: SpideyPool Quickies [7]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Death, Gift Fic, Headcanon, M/M, Prose Poem, Revenge, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 09:21:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10510866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Death_Herself/pseuds/Death_Herself
Summary: The flies were all so attracted to the honey, giving the instinctual spider something to feed off of.Spider-Man did the dirty work Peter Parker could not.A single fly was proving to be the dirtiest of jobs.Deadpool.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chainsmokingnun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainsmokingnun/gifts).



> "And we all grew up, shit got tough  
> Shit just wasn't simple enough  
> And whenever the sun came out, we played"
> 
> This little ditty is for my precious little Nun.

Crimson ribbons caressed the soft scar tissue beneath the mask of the very same deep red. As well as the wrinkled and worn face of the man below him. Some of those ribbons didn’t even bother to touch them. Most flittered to the ground in a delicate projectile.

Faint smoke dissipated from the barrel of his no longer clean desert eagle.  A small price for the large price he would collect once he left this sullied alleyway.

It wasn’t new for Wade to need a quick exit after scattering the skull and brains of a hit, but this current escape was the most dire as he heard footsteps hammering towards him.

A souvenir produced by the shutter of a camera lens and he was gone. Vanishing as quickly as the smoke from his gun.

Brick walls of the neighboring buildings faintly resonating the waves of the single gunshot.

The single gunshot that killed Parker, Benjamin.

Every action has a reaction, a consequence, a loss. Peter knew this. He **_knew_** this! Allowing debt to gather at his family’s feet. And still, he acted and accepted the reaction without second thought.

His knees hit the piss soaked alley way next to the cooling body of the most important paternal figure, reality of the very consequence he accepted settled into his maturing brain.

Loss came as a gaping hole in the frown lines of the man's brow, tiny skull fragments littering the wet concrete and crimson puddles growing with blood rain.

 

He would get his revenge.

And revenge is sweet. Never bitter.

 

Spider-Man became the sweet honey of Peter Parker’s maggot infested life, supplying a sticky food source for the rapidly growing problems, and taking the form of flies quicker than he could keep track of.

The flies were all so attracted to the honey, giving the instinctual spider something to feed off of.

Spider-Man did the dirty work Peter Parker could not.

A single fly was proving to be the dirtiest of jobs.

Deadpool.

He kills people. Plain and simple.

With a reputation as large as it is true intimidated the still maturing brain of the young adult behind the red mask defined by black webbing.

Some things just don’t settle into a level of comfort no matter how comfortable one becomes. Deadpool would never be a comfort. No matter how comfortable they became.

Death and destruction, not to mention chaos trailed the mercenary as much as the blood did.

Crimson puddles and raining blood. A stark reminder of today’s importance to the arachnid hero.

Three years to the day and no revenge, no, just more death for all of his careless actions.

No more slips. He couldn’t allow…

A slip.

The hungry kiss, the intimate reveal, the intense and fierce way that Wade **_loved_**   him.

Heroic Spider-Man and sane Peter Parker couldn’t accept it as anything more than a slip.

Falling into a desperate void of love and passion with a murderer ravenous for blood goes against every fiber of his morality.

Even if the void was heated and comforting, loving and as sweet as the honey that fed his flies.

Scar tissue became his salvation, murder became an acceptable flaw, and revenge took a backseat in the death contraption speeding through life with Wade Wilson at the wheel.

Time became an illusion, sex became a need, and love was a reward.

But love wasn’t a reward for the man behind the smoking gun. Love was an obsession, sex was a drug, and heroism was an acceptable flaw.

Time had always been an illusion. With the fragility of mortality looming over the brilliant head of his obsession it became a reality, one he wasn’t going to waste.

Forever young and beautiful, pure and delicate, Peter and his Spider counterpart accepted the magnitude of decision to let his slip become reality.

Doe eyes fed the need for more of the delicate obsession in the craze minded mercenary until the obsession was no longer an obsession. Fluid slowly cooling into solidity, his obsession evolved into love over the course of the hero becoming an adult.

 

On his twenty-first birthday, Peter discovered that revenge was in fact bitter. Never sweet.

Burning and bitter like the transparent amber bourbon within his grasp.

Murderous and mysterious nature of his boyfriend was the topic of the harsh cold night atop the roof, their roof. It was a topic both avoided, their reasons varied but lead to the same result.

It was all at his suggestion, and all at his whim. It always was. Whatever Wade wanted was what Wade got. He knew it shouldn’t upset him like it did, because the same applied to him. Or maybe that was all him, and Wade just wanted to offer his suggestions.

Hazy and fluid thoughts within his melted mind were unable to process the truth of Wade aside from the obvious.

Murderer and scum.

It burned his tongue to say it, think it, or breathe it. Wide eyes, a shade much like the bitter liquid coating his stomach, brimmed with tears. Why? Peter couldn’t understand why! Tears staining sensitive scarred cheeks were the epitome of his confusion and wrath.

The spider’s honey and Peter’s maggots couldn’t stomach anything else with the liquor sloshing and clawing at the organ.

Certainly not a bomb as large of one Wade was currently serving on his finest china.

“Baby Boy… I’m sorry… I didn’t want you to freak out on me. They are both huge things, I know… I just-”

As the digital face of the bomb counted down slowly, there was no time to diffuse it to save himself or Wade.

Cold. Wet.

The wind of the cold winter night nipped at Peter’s exposed wet cheeks. Wade was as beautiful as he was ugly, as kind as he was cruel, and as good as he was evil.

Good always prevailed.

Always.

Always, always, always.

Peter was good, but was Wade good?

Was Wade good?

Was his boyfriend good?

Knitted gloves touched the broad chest hidden within a large black hoodie.

Was Wade good?

No matter how hard he tried, Peter’s drunken brain couldn’t answer that question, even when his gloved hands touched Wade’s chest.

The silence of their eyes meeting in the instant his hands touched Wade’s chest answered the question for them.

Revenge wasn’t sweet.

Revenge was bitter and burning.

The digital face of the bomb went black, as black as the blown pupils of Wade’s eyes.

Distress wasn’t a time for Peter’s body to stop working; it left him open and vulnerable. No, he had to make his body work.

He had to close the gap between him and the ledge.

Shaky gloved fingers finally gripped the stone ledge of the roof to peer down at the alley way as the fragile china shattered upon contact with the wet alley floor.

The remaining steam of Peter’s breath dissipated from the frigid air at the sight below. Shocked and numb lungs wouldn’t produce more air. Mushy grey matter wouldn’t grasp onto rational thought.

A fire tearing through dead brush did not compare to the flames licking his heart. Surging waves darker than space crushed his very soul. Curling sadness thicker than arson’s smoke filled his lungs.

Tasting his bitter lips made his body tremble more than the cold.

What did Wade say?

What did Wade say?

 

> _I can’t heal myself anymore, and it made me realize how fragile life is. It made me think back on all the lives I have shattered… and… I remembered a name. It screamed at me. I didn’t want to believe it was true. I didn’t want to believe I was the one to hurt you in this way. But, baby boy…  You’ve been searching for the man who killed your Uncle. And I’m right here._

Knit wool covered fingers touched his gaping mouth, but there was nothing strong enough to muffle the scream that ripped from his sore throat and tired lungs.

Revenge was not sweet.

This revenge was not sweet.

Through the hindering haze, the fiery tears, and white steam he saw the shattered fine china on the dirty alley floor for what it was. For who it was.

 **Wade**.


End file.
